Kaleidoscope
by savory pie
Summary: The world is filled with a myriad of colors and shapes. The only way to see them all is to experience them.
1. Nothing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own MÄR.

**Warnings: **Angsstt.

**Words:** 586

**Pairing/****Character(s): **None; Rolan

**A/N:** This is more of a drabble _dump_ than anything else. I have so many ideas swimming in my head, but I can't expand many of them into full oneshots, so I shall post them here, which should also cure my frequent writers' block. Be aware that this is not my best work.

I hope the tense change in the third drabble wasn't too confusing.

All spelling and grammar mistakes are my own. If you find any, let me know and I'll correct them ASAP. Constructive criticism is encouraged and appreciated, so please don't be shy!

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**Kaleidoscope**

**Chapter 1**_:_ Nothing

I.

He knows this feeling better than anyone, this empty, aching that torments his heart, mind, and soul until they all cease to function—until he becomes an empty shell. There is nothing and no one who will even look at him, but he's too afraid of death, so he drags himself through each day with dull, blank eyes. He sits on the street watching all the people walk by, busy with their own lives and families, too preoccupied with their own needs and wants to notice him. It doesn't matter.

He's dead to the world, anyway.

II.

He lives for the night, because he can still dream. He even sleeps during the day if he can't find any food. In his dreams he is happy, he is safe, he is _loved_. The young orphan willingly lets the darkness consume him knowing that he will wake up. Dreams—such things are ephemeral, but memories, _memories_ never erode with the passage of time. Memories endure forever.

III.

The first time he had a nightmare, his mother was at his bedside when he woke, stroking his blonde locks with a serene expression on her beautiful face.

"Shh, it was just a bad dream." She had murmured, kissing him on the cheek. Then she walked out of the room. When Rolan thought his mother was gone, he immediately scanned his room for any suspicious figures hiding in the shadows. As soon as his eyes arrived on the end of his bed, another pair of cerulean orbs stared back at him. Between that moment and the next second,

Rolan managed to ungracefully fall off his bed with a yelp.

A feminine giggle rang throughout the empty space as Rolan slowly sat up and peeked over the side of his bed. The sky-blue eyes belonged to a half-concealed face with messy, cascading locks of hair much like his own.

"Mom!" The eight-year old whined.

The older woman emitted another chuckle and crawled over to her son, gathering him in an embrace.

"You won't be able to sleep after a nightmare like that." There was a glint of mischief in those azure eyes that was not present in most mothers'. "Let's stay up."

And so they did. The two were awake all hours of the night doing nothing but talking of their hopes, dreams, and of course, playing games. His mother had smirked and said that she was proud to have raised such a clever boy when he beat her at checkers and knucklebones. He reminded her that knucklebones didn't require a lot of brain.

When Rolan returned to the dinning room after putting the checkered board away, his mother was missing. His first thought was that she was inviting him to play hide-and-seek and so the boy searched every inch of the house, but every inch was empty; the house was empty. He started to panic when couldn't find her, she couldn't be gone; she was there a few minutes ago.

"Mom!" He calls out, but he can't hear himself, so he doesn't know if she can. He tries again and again, but his voice is only a whisper caught in his throat—

His eyes snap open in an instant.

The whistling of cold winds and numbness of his hands tell him this isn't a dream, he is still alone…but that doesn't mean he can't pretend otherwise. So he hugs his knees and closes his eyes once more.

"It's just a bad dream." He whispers to himself.

Maybe one day he'll finally wake up.


	2. The Contrast of White on White

**Disclaimer:** I do not own MÄR.

**Warnings: **Angst, unnamed OCs, OC death.

**Words: **479

**Pairing/****Character(s):** Ginta, OCs

**A/N:** Yeah, I really don't get inspired much. (Remind me to wail on my Muse when I actually find it.) And I'm lazy, prone to writer's block, and sometimes I just can't get the words down. But more often than not, MÄR just doesn't inspire me. Not enough good characters or fanfiction out there… But it's mostly my practically non-existent Muse.

All spelling and grammar mistakes are my own. If you find any, let me know and I'll correct them ASAP. Constructive criticism is wanted, so don't be shy or hold back.

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**Chapter 2**: The Contrast of White on White

IV.

He would sleep forever if the only way he could enter the land of Märchen was through his dreams. And so, Ginta often napped during school whenever he had the chance, but the result was bittersweet every time. He would always wake up, taunted by visions of a far away place that he still could not yet reach.

V.

And when he _finally_ arrived—

"This may be just some fairy-tale to you, but you have to realize that no one is just good and evil. The world ain't black and white, kid."

—reality always comes crashing down on the dream.

VI.

The Chess, the war, and the otherworldly hero—it was all an endless circle of events.

VII.

_They act as if this is Dungeons and Dragons_, the bartender thought looking at the lot of them drinking away the night in Vestry with the beverages she prepared. _They're a bunch of kids. Somehow, the idea that the fate of M__Ä__R lies in the hands of kids who are getting' drunk doesn't seem to give me any hope._

VIII.

"This isn't a game! You don't understand! You can't just play with other people's lives in the name of your brand of 'righteousness'! Of course you can, what am I thinking? You have to return to your world eventually, where you don't have to deal with any of this. You'll wipe the blood off your hands like it never even happened…you bastard."

IX.

There are always two sides to the story. The side always and forever etched into history, made into legend was of the glory and triumph, distorted into grand tales for posterity to stare wide-eyed at with wonder as children.

"And the win goes to Team MÄR!" And the crowd cheered wildly, as if watching a sporting event and not a death match to determine the freedom of the world.

The other side to story was the harsh truth that everyone would like to forget and erase—the one simply left out, never spoken of, until it vanished, eroded by the flow of time.

"_Melanie needs you! You can't leave me! You can't die! Open your eyes!"  
_

A boy, no more than twelve, cried, screamed, prayed to whatever god willing to listen, but he wasted breath and voice. The bloody body in his frail arms went limp, dead weight that began to crush his small frame, but he didn't care.

Most of the spectators ignored him. Some jeered, laughing at his tears shed for a filthy Chess Piece.

And he wondered through clouded vision, why? _Why_! They were the heroes, weren't they? Heroes only kill the bad guys and his brother was always kind to him and his sister. Couldn't they have spared his life? Couldn't they have healed him? He was only fifteen.

All the boy saw in reply to his question were the faces of heroes, staring back at him blankly, uncomprehending.

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**Notes: **(I like to antagonize Team MÄR and Ginta. 8D 'Tis fun and therapeutic.)

IX was a sneak peek at the OCs in my upcoming OC story—To Kill a Mockingbird. In Fool's Mate and here, I'm practicing for To Kill a Mockingbird, which is going to be like an epic version of IX. So I hope you guys aren't sick of the theme already. XDD


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